A Perfect Moment: Flight
by Firemare
Summary: First in a series of short stories. Complete. This one's about Nightcrawler.


This is the first in a series of short stories (ie one chapter) entitled "A Perfect Moment." It's complete fluff. Ugh. I disgust myself sometimes.   
  
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He couldn't come to the show earlier, but he had seen the arena before, so getting there was not a problem. Leaving the mansion was also easy.  
  
Bamf!  
  
He appeared just inside the opening door, staring up at the still-assembled trapeze contraptions and highwires, as well as some of the other, stranger things this particular circus used. He sighed. It was so familiar. He really wanted to try some, to make sure he hadn't lost the knack of the equipment. The Danger Room could only give so much..... one of the things it couldn't give was an audience.   
  
"Ahem."  
  
He spun around. Sitting on a far edge of the stage was a figure. As he peered closer, he saw that it was female. She was smoking and had a six pac of beer next to her. Imported.   
  
She lifted an eyebrow at him.   
  
"Stage is closed. Show's over. Ya shouldn't be here." Her accent was suprisingly American. Maybe she didn't work with the circus after all. They were composed of some of the best clowns, acrobats, dancers, highwire artists, and contortionists that the world had to offer. Few were actually American.   
  
"I-I am sorry," he said, glancing away. "I just vanted to look around...."  
  
"Hey," she said, as he turned slightly away. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"  
  
He froze. They had shown likenesses of him on Tv after the incident, but that was some time ago. He had hoped that everyone had forgotten him, but how often do you forget a blue demon?  
  
"That's right," she said, her eyes getting wide. "You're the Incredible Nightcrawler, ja?" the last sentence was, to his shock, in perfect German.  
  
"Yes, I am." He didn't know what suprised him more: 1, That she had seen him and not run away, 2, That she had not remembered him from the Tv cast, or 3, That she had heard of him.  
  
"No wonder you're familiar. I modeled a costume off of your appearance. They were going to hire you a couple of months back, when Jethro decided to retire. Why are you in America?"  
  
As she fired off the questions, still in German, he was a little taken back by her directness. "Uh..."   
  
She held up a hand, stopping him. "And if you tell me that you were going to try to kill the president, but someone else beat you to it, you're going to get this cigarette in your eye."  
  
"No, I wasn't planning on it..." he said, blinking at her.  
  
"Good. Every mutant in the show has been using that joke for the past year. It's been so God-awful annoying--" she noticed his slight wince at taking the Lord's name in vain, and apologized. "Sorry. My language's a bit ripe, I know. Comes from being with the show so long, I suppose. I can curse in any tounge in the world."   
  
There was a pause.   
  
She took a drag on the cigarette, watching him carefully. "So," she said finally, as he began to fidget from the silence, "Did you get a chance to catch the show?"  
  
"No," he replied. "I don't go out in large crowds very often."  
  
"Hmm," she said, stubbing out her smoke on the bottom of her shoe. She stood up, in one graceful movement and paced towards him. That was how he could describe it: paced. She moved like one large liquid jungle cat. "Y'know," she said, eyeing his figure in a detatched, impersonal manner, "With the right get-up you'd hardly be noticable. I could probably design something."  
  
"Design something?" He tried to turn to follow her as she paced around him.  
  
"Yeah," she said, absent-mindedly chewing on the tip of her tounge as she stared at his tail with her head tilted to one side. He wrapped it around his leg in embarassment, and she narrowed her eyes in thought.   
  
"Please," he started, and stopped, not knowing how to finish. She glanced up at him and their eyes met for a second. She blinked, and her eyeballs went from normal to pure black, corner to corner, with no sign of pupil or iris. Then when she blinked again, they went back to the normal brown-hazel color.   
  
"Sorry," she said quietly, her eyes full of apology. "I tend to get... involved in my work."  
  
"Do you work in the show?" he asked.  
  
"I'm with the company," she said, "but I'm not a performer. Only about a third of the performers are mutants. The rest are 'artists': pushy, annoying, and with horrible taste. That's where I come in: I'm a costume and make-up designer for the show. I've been with it for about eight or nine years now. It's a good gig, even if I do have to pick up after the performers. I've picked up a few other things, too, but nothing performance level. I leave that to the really talented mutants."  
  
"There are mutants in the show?" he asked.  
  
"Are you surprised?" she lifted an eyebrow at him and hoisted herself back up on the edge of the stage. "You were one. The circus is one place we can feel at home. Everyone's a little strange. It doesn't matter what you look like; a careful application of eyeliner and it looks like everything is painted on. A light coat of greasepaint, and special costumes," she winked wickedly at him, "and you can blend right in. If you want to, that is. Most people here want to stand out as much as possible. That's why I make costumes modeled after other mutants. Like you: I had the hardest time trying to get Armand to move the tail right. Wires don't work, and plain cloth wouldn't support him on the trapeze. He finally had to do without the trick of using it as another hand like some of the guys from Germany said you do. When it didn't move all the way, he was furious. I told him, hey, I may have a better genetic structure, but I can't work miracles. The normies can't stand being left behind."  
  
That got a laugh out of him. To think that someone else was trying to look like him, when sometimes all he wanted was to look like everyone else!   
  
She grinned back at him and gave a little jerk of her head. The six-pac slid across the stage towards her, and she opened one by knocking the cap off against the edge of the stage. "Want one?"  
  
"No, thank you," he said. She shrugged, and took a long gulp, throwing back her head and exposing an elegant, delicate neck. She set the beer down on the stage edge and he noticed it was half-full. Two more were also missing from the six-pac.   
  
She followed his gaze. "Alchohol doesn't faze me as much as it should," she said. At his inquisitive tilt of head, she shook hers. "No, it's not a mutant thing. I can just hold my liquor. And our fridge broke backstage, so while it's in the shop, someone had to finish of the brewskys."  
  
He had to smile a little bit at her defensive tone. His eyes slid to the equipment still hanging above the stage.   
  
"Hey," he heard, and transferred his gaze back to her.  
  
"Sorry," he started, but she glanced back over her shoulder.   
  
"I hear tell you were supposed to be pretty good," she said, a corner of her mouth quirking up. "Wanta put that to the test?"  
  
"Oh, no, I couldn't--"  
  
"No, no, no problem," she asserted. "We can just put it back later. Hey look, you get warmed up, ok? I'll go turn some of the stage lights on so you can see what you're doing. Go ahead and start without me."  
  
She stood up and dissapeared backstage. Elation raced through him as he began his stretches. The lights turned up, a mixtures of blue and white lights, and he teleported up to the trapeze, his first true love. He got it swinging, and was soon leaping between that and other swings, jumping back and forth, doing flips and tumbles, trying all his old routines. He caught sight of a roll of silk attached to a bungee cord, and leapt upon it, unrolling the silk. He bounced lightly off the stage and swung out over the audience, doing flips and curves, and holding onto it with just his tail. He went on for what seemed like hours. It was ecstasy, it was flight, it was love. The free feeling filled his soul, like the first time he had heard a full choir sing in a chapel. He closed his eyes and for a moment was completely at peace.  
  
There was a noise behind him and suddenly she was up there with him, another bungee cord wrapped around her wrist. She gaged his movement and suddenly flung herself past him, arms outstretched, letting go of the cord completely. She arched over the stage in a fall that was nearly a flight, and he caught her wrists neatly on his backswing as if it had been planned and practiced a million times. He swung her back, and she reached out and flipped for the nearest swing, catching it and twisting her knees over it. She held her hands out and he flew into them without a moment's thought. She swung him out like he had done her, and he leapt, spread-eagle into the air, catching another swing with his tail at the last second.   
  
As he swung himself up into a sitting position he heard her laugh. "That was great," she said, as he looked over at her. "You are pretty good. Ever think of joining up again?" She reached out and grabbed another silk wrap, and lowered herself to the ground with it. He teleported down to the stage.   
  
"No," he said, giving a little shrug. "I have other comitments now. I must be getting home." He was still riding the high from the euphoric experience.   
  
"Alright," she conceded, with a lift of one shoulder. "But hey, if you're ever thinking it, look us up, ok? No matter where, no matter when, the job's always going to be on the table."  
  
He nodded, and blinked when she held out her hand.   
  
"Nice meeting you, Nightcrawler."  
  
"It was nice to meet you, skydancer," he said.   
  
Bamf!  
  
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"Skydancer," she mused quietly, cracking open another beer. "I think I like it." 


End file.
